DAR, 1982
Rayhan surged in president Fabian’s house. The gunfire proceeded outside. He went to the sitting room. There was just a cake, with candles surrounding a well-adorned table. On the wall, there was a picture showing Fabian and his wife with words, happy tenth anniversary to us on the top. He started searching the house. He entered one of the bedrooms. It was empty. There were pictures of a young lady, perhaps in her mid-twenties. Maybe his daughter. He walked to another room. It was empty. There was another room ahead of him. The door wasn’t fully closed. Rayhan c****d his g*n and walked to the door. He slowly opened the door. In front of him stood president Fabian, his wife stood behind him. Both were shuddering.
“Who are you?” Fabian said.
“I just want to talk.” Rayhan said.
